Connessieur of Hallucination
by WitheringWeasel
Summary: T for blatant drug use. Sam McPherson is high on life. Brooke McQueen is high on various other things. They're both trying to escape from the same old unspoken secret, but separate states of consciousness aren't far enough to hide. Brooke/Sam
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters, they're Ryan Murphy's.

**A/N: **An ongoing fic.

**Warning:** Occasional mention of Brooke's eating disorder, possibly triggering. And, well, all that marijuana, yeah? Don't tell your parents about this one.

**Summary**: Sam McPherson is high on life. Brooke McQueen is high on... various other things. They're both trying to escape from the same old unspoken secret, but separate states of consciousness aren't far enough to hide.

* * *

"Sam? Sam! SAM!" On the third attempt, Jane's voice finally made its way through Sam's headphones to her ear canals, and succeeded in grabbing her attention. "Could you take this to Brooke? She's at that Mary Cherry's house."

The brunette warily eyed the bundle of clothes in her mother's hands, rolling her apathy over her tongue before letting it drop from her mouth, "What makes you think I even know where she lives?"

"Because you've been there before. For that study group last week." Sam set her face into a frown.

"Right. Fine. How much are you paying me for this?"

"Nothing, you'll do it out of your own good nature." Clearly, Jane was not very good at persuasion. She did, however, manage to correct herself just before her daughter slipped her headphones back on. "And, I'll let you use the car for the next week."  
Sam was out the door before Jane could say "drive safe".

It was a longer than necessary route to her final destination, a twisting, winding drive through an extra four or five songs, her thoughts riding shotgun. In all honesty, she wouldn't have minded taking a shotgun to them, those pesky waking thoughts. But, intangible beings as they are, she had no option but to let them sit there and expose themselves to her, yelling over the music about how deeply she was crushing on a certain someone. A certain someone with blonde hair and the most enticing hazel eyes. A certain female someone named Brooke McQueen. And this someone, oh boy did this someone drive her crazy. Especially as of late. They had both been all smiles and small talk and hanging out and accidental touches, and Sam's instincts were battling it out with every other fiber of her body for some control. The ultimately wise, blindly intuitive pit of her stomach flipped and leapt with joy for every minute indication of affection. The rest of her cells were stuck in some misogynistic denial of the presence (never mind the urgency) of any tension between them.

At present, her body was so involved in this civil war that it was considering ignoring the task at hand for a good long, clarifying drive. If it were just a matter of seeing Brooke, there would be no contest. But Nicole and Mary Cherry's presence was guaranteed, and Sam loathed them. And Brooke was different around them. Everything was about skin care and fashion and attractive movie stars, and it just wasn't a place where Sam was comfortable, even if just for the time it took to drop clothes off.

Still, it was only a moment with popular-Brooke, and all parts of Brooke were Brooke. Sam had to learn to appreciate everything if she was going to be in love with_- Goddammit, I'll just drop off the clothes_.

The mansion was mostly dark, and at least one of the cars was missing from the driveway. Sam parked and made her way to the door, figuring she would leave the bag of clothes at the door with a note if no one answered. A knock on the door only coaxed it mysteriously open. Sam couldn't see or hear anyone inside, but the door drifted further, luring Sam into the inky depths of the Cherry household. The fact that Mary Cherry lived there flickered through Sam's mind as a reason she shouldn't continue. But something- a light at the end of a hallway- urged her forward. She could practically hear the string quartet horror movie soundtrack playing in the background as she made her way into the murky hall. Halfway to the lighted doorway, she heard muted laughter- Brooke. She sounded ok. It wasn't maniacal or pained or anything. It was… lengthy, though.

Sam maneuvered to the doorway to find herself at the top of some carpeted stairs. She swallowed her nerves and ducked into the room below. There she was greeted by a blast of light, a still laughing Brooke laying flatly on a couch, and a very distinctive smell.

"Sammie! I was just thinking about you!" Brooke had been taken over by giggles and a childish grin, a state of mind explained by a combination of the scent, a pack of scattered rolling papers, and a small tuft of greenery sticking out of a small bag on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Sam's detective powers had been rendered null by shock, however, and she darkened, confusion and mild anger seeking an answer, "Brooke…? What the hell is this?"

The response came hazily, lolling off Brooke's lips, just a tiny bit slower than normal, "Oh! No, Sammie, don't get angry! You killin' my buzz. Buzz buzz…"

Sam's response was cut off by a Southern drawl announcing the timely arrival of Brooke's blonde buddies, "Well, well, well, if it isn't trailer trash's favorite canned meat. What are you doin' breakin' into mah house?"

"Buzzzzzzzzz…"

The explanation was surprisingly pathetic, "I was… uh… dropping off some clothes for Brooke… she forgot…"

"Save the sputtering, Spam. Do the only thing I can stand watching you do, and get the hell out of here."

Brooke cut off her buzzing and defended her brunette friend, "Oh, Nicole, that's mean. She should stay anyway because she's here and she'll be nice."

"Oh, Brookie…" Nicole broke into a smile of pure amusement at her baked blonde friend. She turned to Mary Cherry, "She's already pretty far gone. Strong stuff."

"Oh, yes, Sebastian only carries the finest. He's the only one I trust for my psychoactive needs. If you're ever in need of bovine tranquilizers in a pinch, he's your man!" Mary Cherry's over enthusiastic endorsement was coupled with a smile that could only look creepier on a sad clown.

Nicole's reaction was amused, at best. "I'll keep that in mind. Back to our rat's nest infestation."

"Just let me go. There's no way I'm spending my night with you three all drugged up and... being you."

"Nnnn… As much as I want you gone, B has a point. There's absolutely no way I trust you not to be a total narc. You're going to stay here, and tomorrow when you leave- when we all leave- you will stay absolutely silent about this whole incident."

Challenge flushed through Sam's face, "Or what?"

"Or I plant every ounce of incriminating evidence in this room directly on you. Besides, I'm sure you already smell pretty incriminating, so it's in your best interests to keep mum." Sam's face turned downwards in an obstinate frown. "Phone's in the kitchen. Let mommy know your attempted break-in is now a sleepover."

Sam bit her lip and obeyed, thoughts racing as she climbed the stairs. It was just weed, but still. What if the school's scare tactics were true, and Mary Jane really was a gateway drug? What if they were going to tie Sam up and shoot her up with heroin and make her smoke crack cocaine and acid and then sell her drugged up body for more blow? They were in Mary Cherry's house for godsakes! Anything could happen. _Anything_.

But the lie flowed easily out of her mouth into the phone receiver, and she was slated to stay the night.

She was still considering the possibility of human trafficking as she came back down the stairs, where Nicole had joined Brooke's couch sprawl, vodka in hand, and was halfway through a conversation with Mary Cherry.

The short haired diva kept an air of superiority floating though her voice as she cocked her head at the arrival of their addition. "Well, it's not all a loss. Half an hour, and our hot boy toys will be here."

Brooke's protest was entire and immediate. "Nooooo! I don't want booooys." She looked at Sam, then Nicole with a pleading look in her eye. Suddenly, she stood up, determination flaring.

"I don't want boys. And neither does Sam." She grabbed Sam by the wrists and dragged her towards the stairs.

Nicole cocked an eyebrow as Brooke stamped past her. "Watch out, Spam, Brooke's a cuddler."

As Brooke dragged Sam back up the stairs to god-knows-where, Nicole called out, "And, Spam, if I found out you took advantage of my poor, sweet innocent Brooke, there will be plenty to pay, and you can bet the only accepted tender will be your suffering."

"C'mon!" Brooke was unaware that any threats had transgressed, so occupied was she in her task of getting Sam upstairs. The brunette was utterly helpless against the unfettered will of the blonde, and as quickly as she could blink, they had made their way to an empty bedroom.

"Yeah! Party's all on us now!" Brooke pulled Sam into the room, hips swaying to some invisible music. 20 seconds of their hardcore bopping proved exhausting, and Brooke collapsed onto the bed, yanking Sam down with her. It took a few minutes for the laughter to subside, and Sam to situate herself not-on-top-of-Brooke before she could speak.

"Brooke, I can't believe this…"

" Oh, Sammie, you should try it. It just goes in here." Brooke reached out and tapped Sam's lips in demonstration. Her fingers fell heavy on the last tap, and followed the promised path down. "Then goes down here..." The digits kept a firm track down the pulsing sides of Sam's throat. "And gets right in here." She was passed the neckline of Sam's shirt, making swirls over where she guessed Sam's lungs (which were practically drawing in gasps by now) were.

Brooke was very close now. Very, hot-breath-on-Sam's-neck, whispers-are-too-loud close. Her fingers curled around Sam's shoulders, pulling Sam's chin and the world right up to her lips. "And then I don't know where it goes, but it feels goooooooood." Brooke tossed her head back and laughed, releasing herself and falling back on the bed in a vicious giggling fit.

"Don't be a sourface. Come down here!" Brooke stretched out her arms like a child demanding candy, the goofiest grin plastered over face. Sam considered for a moment her dilemma, pausing until that moment became one of clarity- seducing someone who was high wasn't kosher; giving in to their pleas for snuggling was the honorable thing to do.

And honorable, Sam could do.

Respectable as she was being, she couldn't keep a devilish smirk from dancing over her cheeks as she slid down into Brooke's waiting arms. Brooke's fingers played and scratched across Sam's back lightly. Sam's hands, however, were busy drawing out long, smoothing strokes down Brooke. The low "mmm" vibrating from Brooke kept Sam in rhythm. Every now and then, Sam would catch some of Brooke's hair, and the blonde would roll her head back and look like she had left for paradise, her eyes vacant of anything but pleasure. Actions like this urged Sam's concentration into more daring movements, long digits tracing ribs and the small muscles on her neck, up through her hair over her ears, and back down in a consuming, wonderful pattern. Practical hours passed before Brooke shrugged her way up to eye level with Sam, and broke their mutual trance with some purposeful gaze.

The few inches of air between them seemed as soft as Brooke's lips looked.

And those lips- oh, how they began to move, in depth unfamiliar, but expected, "Sammie, do you know what love feels like?"

Clearly, Brooke was trying to short Sam's brain out. "I… I'm not sure I can say. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was just thinking, I bet that there's some destiny out there, that puts people together in hugs like this, and it just feels so pure, and so right, no matter what. And I feel like this." She cuddled back down into a full embrace to punctuate her sentence.

"I… you're rambling." Sam was running on empty. Nothing she _wanted _to say was daring to make an appearance on her lips.

Brooke's rebuttal was drawn out, but carried a hint of the total dominance that any of her regular repartee owned, "Truth hides most in the nonsense of the language. It's shy and likes to avoid confrontation."

"How… poetic."

"Just like you." Brooke was caught in Sam's overworked heartbeat, her thoughts breaking and reforming with every thump. It took minutes of hard focusing to remember how grammar and syntax and her tongue worked. "I do admire you, Sam. Your words… and your eyes… They're always just right."

"Are you sure you're not just looking in a mirror?" _And of course I'm going to ruin the moment with my insecurities…_

Brooke was straddling the extremes of facial expressions. Contentment turned to pouting and back again with the grace of a three legged turtle climbing Mount Everest. "Noooooo I'm being serious."

"And so am I. Why should I believe that someone so entirely perfect seriously admires something about me?"

"But I'm not. I think- I don't want people to know I'm flawed. But I can't handle that you think I'm perfect." Brooke's expression was even and serious. "Does that get in your mind right?"

Sam could smile now. Brooke wasn't even thinking straight. She didn't know what she was saying, Sam wouldn't have to deal with a confession or life-changing speeches right now. "I think you're a little bit sleepy, Brooke."

Brooke's lip lifted into a pout. "Do you?" Her brows furrowed as she stared at Sam's collarbone. A minute passed before she nodded in agree. "Well, you are really intelligent, too. Maybe I should listen this time." Brooke's head rested just under Sam's chin, carried off by Sam's hands working their nerves off in a gentle circles across her back. Brooke's words were barely breaths against Sam's collarbone, "Smartness. That's something else… I love about you."

Despite her excuses to not take Brooke's hallucinogen-induced words seriously, Sam was relegated to one or two bewildered blinks of sleep that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters, they're Ryan Murphy's.

**A/N: **An ongoing fic. It's always a much shorter chapter to read than to write. Makes me feel like this could have been a one shot. Oh well.

**Warning:** Occasional mention of Brooke's eating disorder, possibly triggering. And, well, all that marijuana, yeah? Don't tell your parents about this one.

**Summary**: Sam McPherson is high on life. Brooke McQueen is high on... various other things. They're both trying to escape from the same old unspoken secret, but separate states of consciousness aren't far enough to hide.

* * *

Sam had just barely relaxed into a semi conscious state of rest when she felt Brooke shift in her arms. The blonde hair parted, to reveal a face drooping with sleepiness. Sam smirked as the hazel eyes fluttered between awake and totally gone. "Good morning, starshine. Still riding the Purple Haze?"

"Oh… no… I'm pretty much sober… a little bit… stoned… but not so slap happy." Despite her admission of entire awareness, Brooke only snuggled further into Sam's embrace.

"So… you… trust me? 'Cause I could get you grounded for the next year."

"Yes, I trust you. And I'm cold, and you're warm right now." Sam automatically adjusted to cover Brooke's exposed arms.

"I see."

A sigh and a smile lifted the words right from Brooke, "And when you do that, tighten your arms around me… It's probably the nicest feeling ever."

Sam's brain had a field day over that statement._ Ohgodohgodohgod what did she just say what am I supposed to say what's happening right now is this a dream. _"Ah… Are you sure you're not still…?"

Brooke was the tiniest bit hurt that Sam refused to accept her as anything other than stoned and rambling, but she didn't let it phase her. "No, Sammie. I told you, I'm sober." Her body was gearing up for some terrible, rushing unknown. "So I like it when you hold me." Brooke licked her lips before pushing herself up, creating a barrier between Sam and the world. Her confidence was focused and pointed into her eyes and lips and fingers, and instantly shattered by Sam's confused, almost scared expression.

She took a deep breath, internal roulette chancing her next breath. "Friends can do that, right?" Lady luck was a bitch today.

"Uh… Yeah. **Friends**… can… do that…" The air was suddenly stiff, and Brooke noticed how tense Sam's body had grown. Brooke quickly broke eye contact and extricated herself from Sam's arms. Every cell in Brooke's body was disappointed in her mouth, which tried to cover its mistake by filling the gaping maw of silence that had engulfed the room with some words. Any words. "So, you'll want to shower before we go home. It's… just down the hall on the right."

Sam was still a little shaken, defeated, but eager to regain some conversation. "I don't have a change of clothes…"

"If Mary Cherry doesn't have anything for you to borrow, I'll distract Dad and Jane and you can sneak past." She wrinkled her nose a little and leaned toward Sam. "You don't smell much, either."

She could take that as an insult, some precious something to comment on. "Oh, thanks."

"Come on, it's a good thing."

They both refused to move, but couldn't stop reeling from the crash. Sam found her footing first, and launched a new conversation into the heavy atmosphere.

"Out of curiosity, how long have you been doing this?"

"Oh. Uhh… Not long. This is only the fourth time in a year or so."

Sam sank back a little into the pillows. "Hmm. I never would have pegged you to be the type, especially not after that rousing speech about drug testing…"

"I'm perfectly aware of my own hypocrisy, thank you." Brooke paused, but managed to successfully continue. "It's… actually really nice. To stop worrying about how much people are judging me, and just laugh…" _To be able to do more than accidentally brush against your arm, even if I mess everything up._

"Which you were very good at." Brooke chuckled lightly at how unintentionally appropriate Sam was.

"Good. That's the most important thing, to have a good time. You should try it sometime, Sam. I think you'd really like it."

Sam looked amused at the thought, but dismissed the offer, "Mmhmm, I think I'll keep my brain cells for a few more years."

Brooke's face lifted into sarcastic disbelief, "Pshht, come on, it's not alternative enough for you?"

"No. Now that you're doing it, I have to rebel. It's protocol."

"Booooo, peer pressure, peer pressure! Give in!" Brooke was hoping her enthusiasm didn't sound as forced as it felt.

"Go take your shower." Sam smirked, rolled her eyes and turned away, making for the kitchen.

Brooke obliged, spending a good half hour perfecting her shower. All traces of last night's activity had been washed away in the first ten minutes, but she was hoping that sometime in the other 20 minutes she could get rid of her stupid, idiotic, mistake. They were _already _friends. Saying that word right then and there only cemented them into that role. Brooke's lips tightened, nervous and guilty. Stupid, stupid mistake.

This falling for Sam thing? Clearly not going to work. She had been _so close_ to ruining her tenuous friendship with Sam for a confession-a kiss, a few seconds of unadulterated indulgence. Tempting a trade-off as it was, she had already tried forcefully cutting herself off from the brunette, and the withdrawl hadn't been pleasant. She could get by on friendship. She couldn't even imagine rejection.

Her back hit the cold ceramic of the wall, shivering to be separated from the warmth of the water, and her eyes squinted in concentration. In any case, Sam wasn't the type to beat around the bush. If Brooke pushed too far, Sam would tell her- Brooke could always trust Sam to speak her mind.

But… wasn't it a double edged sword? If Sam had wanted Brooke, she would have said something, would have done something, and wouldn't have looked like Brooke was about to slap her.

"My head hurts." She shut off the water, looking for some comfort in the resulting silence. Instead the residual drip of the faucet only served to remind her of the tap of Sam's fingers on the back of her neck, which left her wondering if her shower had been cold enough. "Pfff. Sobriety ruins everything."

Similarly, Sam had spent a good half hour drinking water in the kitchen, trying to drown her regret. By the end of the first glass, she had almost gotten to comprehending the fact that Brooke might have been trying to say something else, maybe even trying to _kiss_ her. By the end of the second glass, she had violently refuted that fact, placing all of her future references on the "friends" statement. By the middle of the third glass, she really needed to pee, and had no idea where she stood with Brooke. Friends can do that? Friends don't say, "I like it when you hold me." And it was_ one word_, in a flurry of actions and other more-than-friends words. But it was the key word, the one that explained everything.

Nothing was right, and it was because of Sam, because her stupid face had done something stupid again.

She refilled for number four, but shrugged in distaste at the first sip. The water swirled down the drain, and so did any semblance of assurance. She liked it more when Brooke made her angry. Arguing felt much more natural than stuttering.

Sam was running her fingers along the inside of the glass- a half-hearted attempt at occupying herself- when Brooke poked her head into the room and announced the availability of the shower. The rest of the morning was a blur of pensive looks, stumbling into a mostly-naked man as he showed himself out the door, and hugging (or glaring at, for Sam) a very pleased looking Nicole Julian in good bye. They wondered briefly where Mary Cherry was, but dismissed it. The truth was probably more horrifying than whatever their imaginations wrote.

The car ride home was silent. The next few days were silent.

It wasn't that they were ignoring each other. It wasn't a cold silence, by any means. On the contrary, it was white hot, unspoken questions begging to be let out of their minds, clawing at the insides of their veins in the most unpleasant way. Still, the only words they exchanged were pleasantries, phrases so automatic it didn't feel like they had spoken at all.

Sam could deal with it. She was used to this battle. It was a bother, sure, but insecurities had been part of her life since Brooke McQueen walked in, and she was an expert about finding ways to channel that energy into other things. Her comments got snarkier, the Zapruder ran increasing scathing exposes, and Carmen and Lily occasionally had to tell her to stop her frenetic leg bouncing, but as far as outward indifference was concerned, she was golden.

Brooke was livid. At herself, at Sam, she didn't know which. Two or three times in the course of a day, she would steel her courage and set herself in place to confront Sam. And two or three times a day she would look into deep brown eyes and the words would drop right out of her mouth without so much as a sound.

Not getting what she wanted- this was something that went against every ingrained behavior in her head. She was confidence in human form, and this was simply unacceptable. She did _not _need one more angst-mortared brick in the wall of teenage development. But one look at Sam, and all hope of a conclusion left her mind.

Relief came in a casual phone call. Nicole Julian had seen Brooke's brow furrowing in concentration more than was healthy as of late, and she was going to fix it. She couldn't just stand by and let such perfect skin get worry wrinkles, could she?

Brooke picked up the phone that Thursday, surprisingly thankful for the interruption of her Biology homework.

"Hello, this is Nicole Julian for Brooke."

"Hey Nic."

The disembodied voice jumped to a sympathetic lilt as it recognized the downturn in Brooke's. "Oh, Brookie, what's wrong? Life with Spam got you down?"

Cynicism filtered Brooke's words as they left her vocal cords. "To be honest? Yeah."

Nicole was some bit of cloudy sunshine in Brooke's world, "Well, then, let me be your knight in shining armor. When I became your best friend, I made a promise to protect you from all evil, from Salvation Army ensembles to sobriety."

"Thanks Nic."

"Come over at 6. We'll get you nice and forgetful."

Brooke's eyes followed the curve of the phone as it hit the stand and clicked off.

If she couldn't get Sam, but couldn't stop wanting her, she'd just have to make herself want something that she _could_ get.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters, they're Ryan Murphy's.

**A/N: **An ongoing fic. We'll call this the end for now. I've got some more things to play out in this setting, but I don't know when that will get done. So we'll call it a pleasant surprise if they happen.

**Warning:** Occasional mention of Brooke's eating disorder, possibly triggering. And, well, all that marijuana, yeah? Don't tell your parents about this one.

**Summary**: Sam McPherson is high on life. Brooke McQueen is high on... various other things. They're both trying to escape from the same old unspoken secret, but separate states of consciousness aren't far enough to hide.

* * *

"Today, class, we will be studying something I'm sure many of you hold near and dear to your hearts- in your lungs." Ms. Bobby Glass paced stiffly behind a projector as she pontificated. "That's right class- we're getting a bout of that reefer madness. Weed, pot, grass, ganja, cannabis, Mary Jane herself pays us a visit today. Not literally of course- FDA would be all over my ass…"She trailed off to slap the back of Harrison's head as it fell in boredom.

"Now, statistics say that 44% of high school seniors have tried marijuana by the time they graduate. To simulate how drastically these numbers affect your futures, when I call your name, get off your gluteus maximus and make your way over to 'the couch'..."

She gestured to part of the classroom that had been transformed into a dimly lit basement, where a shaggy grey couch sat, dilapidated.

"…Where you will contract lung cancer, become forgetful to the point of losing your friends, family and grandparents, and obtain a distinct aroma of sloth and failure. If you think any of this is exaggeration, talk to Mr. Kevin King." She paused her monologue. "What's that?" The teacher leaned over, eyes wide, hand cupping her ear as though she were expecting the mute class to actually say something. "You've never heard of a Kevin King? But he's a student here- technically, he's enrolled in this very class. But Mr. King has greater priorities. Devotion to his sweet love, Mary J…" The pause-for-dramatic-effect was clearly lost on her students. "Who turned him from a straight-A student, to THIS!" The projection jumped, and a picture of a slovenly, hazy eyed, slack jawed man, handcuffed and surly froze on the screen.

Sam couldn't help leaning over to whisper, "Fate has laid a hand."

Brooke shot back, "Deus ex machina and Ms. Glass' grudge tells me you're destined to be part of the 44."

Ms. Glass's voice cut through their whispers, issuing destiny, "Lily Esposito."

"Because perfect, sweet Brooke would never do something so… illicit…" The drop in Sam's voice, the husky emphasis on that last word, it drove whirlwinds through Brooke's veins. She swallowed her surprise long enough to reply.

"It's what I get for being so pretty."

Banter. Banter was comfortable- neutral territory. Brooke frowned. That was entirely the problem. She didn't want a neutral relationship with Sam. It just didn't make sense. Neutrality between two such strong willed people would be like ramming two raging hurricanes together and asking them to stay calm. The sheer amount of energy between them kept them delicately balanced on the tip of a knife, but she, at least, was trying to tip the scales somewhere. Their discord as enemies or their inevitable chaos as lovers- Brooke was convinced the playing field was black and white, passion adding and subtracting light until they reached some ultimatum.

"Miss McPherson. Leave that smirk at your desk. To the couch!" Sam rolled her eyes and complied.

As Brooke glanced at Sam's retreating figure, doubts crept all over her mind. Maybe it was her own desire writing that kind of a design, and nothing more. There was no way Sam had the same perception. All their quiet conversations were pastel, fields of grey stretching in every which way to avoid the old extremes and balance them out as friends. Friends, friends, friendsfriendsfriends. Never before had she actively disliked a word so much.

Somewhere outside of Brooke's passionate ponderings, a bell rang. She noticed only because Sam stood up, grabbed her books, and walked out the door. All without so much as a glance at Brooke.

_Don't feel jilted, don't feel jilted, don't feel jilted_. Somehow, Brooke was at her locker, rifling through her books for god knows what. Honestly, she was getting worried. Dependency was the worst feeling in the world. Depending on someone who didn't know how hard they had you was near impossible.

It was why Brooke had focused her naturally dependent tendencies on not eating all those (very few) years ago, and why she was now training herself to be dependent on whatever Nicole gave her. Weight goals and reality altering drugs didn't ignore her. Couldn't betray her.

She had already made her way into this spiral, and Brooke McQueen didn't give up once she started something.

Directly after another silent dinner, she announced her plans for the night to Jane. "I'm going over to Nicole's now."

"Okay. Mike and I will be out until about 11, do you think you'll home by then?"

"Oh, um, I might stay over. We have a Glamazon meeting before school, and it's easier if we just go together…"

Jane raised an eyebrow, but didn't let her suspicion taint her voice. "Alright. Have fun. Be safe."

She was pretty strung out on whatever Nicole gave her, but she was damn good at hiding it. School had been a little bit more difficult than dinner, all those eyes watching her for irregularities. The instant her confidence overrode her nerves, not one person suspected a thing.

Excepting, of course, Sam McPherson. A week passed, and she had gradually numbed herself to Sam. Withdrawal was much easier when she was absorbed in some surreal pastime. But withdrawal was always in direct opposition to the drug, and Brooke's addiction was worried. And Brooke's addiction was sitting on the couch, glancing as the blonde readied herself for Nicole's. The brunette drug let one sentence drop from her mouth, unintentionally dripping in sarcasm, and ignited the internal coughing and shaking characteristic of true withdrawal.

"Have fun, Brooke."

"What does that mean?" Brooke's movements became all the more deliberate.

"It means 'have fun, Brooke.'"

"If you want to say something, Sam, just say it."

"If you want me to say something, Brooke, you're gonna have to spell it out for me." Sam was worried. But right now, in this conversation, all she had were retorts. All she could rely on was teasing, because any more and she'd yell her confession at Brooke.

The blonde just sneered and muttered, "If you want something, Sam, maybe you should just take it."

It was Sam's turn to be indignant. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. I don't care. I'm going." Brooke was out the door before Sam was finished with her last breath.

That day dragged into another, and Sam was settling into the roar of the cafeteria between Lily and Carmen. Her eyes scanned the doorway and the dozens of inconsequential faces passing through it. She was watching like sunflowers or the hills watched for their goddess at dawn, it was habit, natural, and she wouldn't stop no matter what logic decreed. She missed 15 minutes of Lily and Carmen's debate over the pros and cons of Leonardo DiCaprio by the time her sun ambled in, followed by her chattering posse. And there Brooke was, wearing a veil of Nicole. Some venom about the short haired blonde had oozed its way into Brooke's step, and the way Brooke lazily rested her head on Nicole's shoulder made something primal and terrible wrench at Sam's heart. Had they always done that? They probably had. It didn't matter, regardless. Some mantra of "it's Brooke's choice, it's Brooke's choice" was on repeat in Sam's head, trying to convince the armada of hormones to shut the fuck up. The deafening roar grew louder as Nicole purposefully steered herself and Brooke past Sam's table, leaning over to leave a glib, "Take a picture, Spam, it lasts longer."

Harrison figured something was seriously wrong with Sam- she didn't even bother with a catty reply.

It was another week before Sam heard Brooke speak to her again, even if it was mostly disjointed mumbles. It was another night she was supposed to spend at Nicole's, but Mike and Jane had gone out on a date, so she had been dropped off to sleep in her own bed. Making it to her own bed suddenly became a whole new challenge, as everything inside of her peaked at once as a terrible trip and she had to catch herself on the corner of a cabinet.

"Brooke?" Sam heard a short clatter and followed the sound to the kitchen. "Brooke… Are you okay…?"

"I'm fine Sam." No amount of practice could hide the slur in her voice. Her slight speech impediment didn't matter nearly as much as the next few moments in which she turned a shade paler and half fell forward, only stopped by Sam's arms. She kept mumbling, "I don't need you. I hate you. Never touch me again."

As deeply as those acidic words bit into her skin, the need to drag Brooke upstairs and out of harm's way overrode any urge Sam had to argue or cry, "You are not happy. Let's get you to bed."

Incoherent curses dripped out of Brooke's mouth until she collapsed on her bed. Sam pushed her over on her side, considering the situation. She didn't know much about taking care of a drunk, high- whatever Brooke was at the moment- other than don't let them drown in their own vomit, and to let them sleep it off.

The haze didn't lift until late the next night, when Sam set a pitcher of cold water on Brooke's nightstand, and delicately sprinkled an icy wake up call across Brooke's face.

Brooke squinted at her alarm clock and pried herself from her bed. She turned to face Sam and murmured some garbled questions. Sam just bit her lip, and dove right in.

"I can't help but notice you've been over Nicole's quite a bit lately…"

"What's it worth to you?" It was more of a challenge than a question.

"Well, and yesterday, you wrote 'Mendel had some peas that were green and they tasted wrinkly' as an answer on a chemistry test. About chemistry. Genetics was last year, and your sentence structure was skirting third grade." Her evidence hit home as Brooke scrunched her face, avoiding some impending flush, "Do… do you want to talk about anything?"

"No."

"Ok… then." Sam was a little bit at a loss. Not because she didn't have judgments to voice, or that she was scared of Brooke's reaction. It was all about not letting Brooke retreat into stubbornly saying no. "You know, Brooke. I really… didn't think you were like this."

"Like what, Sam? What do you know about me?"

"I know that you know that your problems won't just disappear in a wisp of smoke."

Brooke snorted. "You're right. I guess you probably wouldn't go away that easily."

"I'm serious, Brooke. You're not yourself, and I'm not going to blame you or Nicole, but-"

"Stop- judging me, Sam! You don't know what you're talking about! It's not like drugs are some terrible-"

"No, it's not even about that. Hell, I'll even toke up with you next time if it makes you happy." Sam had lost her stutter in frustration, her voice offering some defeated ultimatum. "Because that's all I want, Brooke. I want you to stop being miserable. Maybe some people can't handle their problems- but you're not some people. I know you, and I know that you're strong enough to face whatever's making you feel like shit, and that's what I want you to do."

Brooke was dead set against denying the fervor in Sam's voice, and set her tone to full apathy, "Like I said before, I don't care."

"You _don't_ stop caring, though. You get pissed. You get passionate, and you fight until the other person gives up."

"Well, maybe I'm tired of fighting." Contrary to her claims, conviction rose into her voice.

"Are you happy?" Brooke stopped, eyebrows twisting from anger to confusion. "That first time I found you, you told me you did it because it let you be happier. But, here, this, you're not even escaping from whatever's bothering you, you're just wallowing in it, and being… not you. That's fine for some people, but not for you." She paused to take a breath, hoping- knowing that her assessment was accurate enough to make a point. "I care about you, Brooke. I'm not… pretending otherwise. And I hope that you'll let me."

Brooke turned eerily cold, icicles in her words pushing Sam out the door. "Just leave me alone."

Even in her shuddering retreat, Sam felt some instinctual reassurance. Sam knew Brooke, knew she was right about Brooke. When Brooke knew she was right, she was fiery hot in passionate defense; she only froze when she questioned herself.

The next day, when Brooke didn't show up to school, Sam spent a majority of her time gnawing on her lower lip. At a certain distance, she could wait for an eternity. Here- having admitting that she cared in a passionate speech, but still balancing on some ledge of "friendship"- here was hell's waiting room. But she had said her part, and it was up to the blonde to initiate contact.

That resolution didn't stop her from pausing every time she passed Brooke's tightly shut door. The piece of wood seemed like a gateway to some hellish fever dream. She could almost feel the inner turmoil emanating from the dead silence of Brooke's room.

Jane could feel the teenage angst, too, and while Brooke's absence from the real world was a fine cause for concern, she was more than a little prompted to say something when she noticed her daughter standing a vigilant watch at the white painted door. "Sam… Do you know what's wrong with Brooke?"

"She's… she's been having a tough time with school and everything, and I said something stupid to her."

The older McPherson's interrogation voice came lilting out. "What did you say?"

"I… I apologized. I think she really just wants… needs… some time alone."

They stood even for a few moments until Sam watched Jane nod in defeat and make her way downstairs to finish dinner, and resumed her staring contest with the door. She felt an itch in her foot and the back of her throat; she had been practicing all day under her breath for this moment.

Spontaneity hit and she burst through the door, "That's it, Brooke. It's been a whole goddamn day, and I'm sorry, but I care too much about you to just let you sit here alone- " Her words fell on absolute silence. Sam watched them jumping across the blackness of the room and land on a form curled on the bed. Her jaw and shoulders dropped limp as she waded through the inky dark room to the bedside, where she gently sat down on the covers, half hoping the blonde would wake up, half relieved she wouldn't have to do any more confrontation. Eyes trailed over Brooke as Sam nibbled the irony on her lip.

"Of course. I finally work up the nerve, and you're asleep." Slow, even breathing coupled with tiny snores verified the verdict. "…I hope it's peaceful. Sleep well, Brooke." Sam reached out and gently tugged a blanket over the top of Brooke's shoulder, though it was really more of an excuse to touch her shoulder than shield her from the air. Her muscle memory twitched and ached as it replayed the feeling of their skin brushing. That night. Two weeks was way too long and only yesterday. A pensive moment tightened Sam's face. She couldn't help but feel responsible for this. It had been screaming at her, at them both that night, and she had tried to silence it by not saying anything.

But that cold shoulder did nothing more than make Brooke wonder if that screaming truth was entirely in her head. And no matter how well adjusted Brooke was at trading secrets and laughter with Nicole and Mary Cherry, this wasn't a normal conversation. This was unfettered love, and no human (and even fewer teenagers) was well adjusted to matters of the heart.

But finally, all of the words that had been jumping around her mind were finally beginning to form themselves into tangible feelings, sentences. Sam could fix this, she knew she could- the instant Brooke was talking to her again.

"Hope you feel better soon." Sam hardly even whispered, but only because sound waves were too limiting and couldn't hold all the meaning behind that statement.

As the door shut, Brooke blinked and refused to cry for the gazillionth time that day.

One more exhausting day spent distancing herself from the world, and Sam was face down on her writing desk. The only sound that could have possibly roused her from her position came from the other side of the door to her room.

"Hey, Sam." Brooke peered around the partially closed door as Sam rocketed into perfect posture and looked straight into the blonde's eyes. There was that indecision again, looking adorable on Brooke. "Umm... So... I felt bad… terrible…. about everything…" Brooke nervously stepped into Sam's room, making sure to think her words out before she said them. "So I made you some cookies. The ones with the sad faces are me apologizing to you, and the ones with the happy faces are hopeful for happier reparations."

Sam was almost speechless. "... This is, at least, the most delicious apology I've ever received." Brooke studied Sam's face as the brunette deliberated, biting back a jump when the brunette turned her gaze from the cookies to make searing eye contact. "And accepted. So... you didn't go all super-apathetic on this and accidentally knock rat poison into these?"

Brooke half-grinned at Sam's half-joke. "I'm not, I didn't. ... I do care about you."

"You were right too. I'm a hypocrite. I haven't said much to you lately…" _about the fact that we almost kissed…_ Her mind worked tirelessly to coax the words out of her mouth, but she just trailed off, letting the deafening roar of their silent dialogue drone on.

'Are we just friends?' 'We can't just be friends.' 'This is mutual.' 'Can we talk about this?'

If they were both just a little more optimistic, or a few years older, or the sky hadn't been overcast for the past month, maybe they would have just laughed and kissed, and taken the union as a simple admission of joy and lust and let it grow from there. There wouldn't be this fatal silence yelling at them to speak. Brooke would be taking advantage of Sam's horrendous eloquence telling her every minor truth she hadn't found the words for yet, Sam would be swept away in Brooke's endurance for socializing and smiling.

But they were both just flawed enough to keep playing their game, to purposefully miss the mark one more time. So Sam smiled and shot, and hit way off target.

"Want to watch a movie?"

Two weeks that she hardly remembered other than some searing pains still throbbing in her head and the instinctual knowledge that she had been a complete ass to Sam, and here Brooke was, laughing at a plea to "lip some stockings" like nothing had ever happened.

Sam was considering something entirely different. As far as she was concerned, cookies meant those two weeks were water under the bridge. For every moment Brooke had spent lucid in the past two weeks, Sam had been considering herself. "If you want something, why don't you just take it?"

Most of her passions drew words out of her mouth like magician's scarves, but when it came to Brooke, she was nothing more than a mime. And as much as she appreciated the performing arts, she hated mimes. Her racing literary mind had then proceeded to spill out a rant the previous night in an overly complicated metaphor about acting and mimes and doing things that didn't make sense in retrospect, but she had gotten to the point. She needed to stop taking advantage of the silent kind-of-but-not-really relationship they had developed and act, and talk to Brooke. And touch Brooke.

It took four attempts of Sam reaching out to complete her objective, but fifth time was a charm. Her hands rested on Brooke's shoulders for a moment, but were quickly seized with the fiery need to move. They pressed down with all their weight, rubbing circles down into the tense muscles. A friendly massage- the perfect icebreaker.

Brooke reacted slowly, pulled out of revelry. She wondered if it was some residual sluggishness from her two weeks of binging, but that didn't matter right now. She had to know that Sam was going to keep touching her. She had hoped that Sam wouldn't take her slight gasp as a ward against touching her, and feared the worst when the hands lifted off of her back, hovering so that they grazed her shirt when Sam spoke.

Sam began nervously, "Friends can do this, right?" Brooke's answer came with a smile and a sigh as she relaxed back into Sam. "And you've been tense lately. And… I like it when you're relaxed. You don't sic Sata-Nicole on me. Sorry."

"I will forgive your mistake only because it's much more important that I tell you to move up… a little to the righoooooooOoooohhhh…" Sam could feel a muscle-y knot rolling beneath her fingers, so she increased pressure. Brooke leaned into the kneading, face a canvas of ecstasy.

Whatever was going to happen tonight, Sam was ready for it. No more awkward freezing up. This wouldn't be some flawless, oblivious confession. It would be real and raw, and all the dialogues she had practiced would happen, for real this time. She willed, dared the words out into the open.

Brooke shifted back into the couch again. When the time was right. Sam would wait until the time was _right_. So what if the time wasn't right until they graduated, or had careers, or were married to other people-

She had been massaging deeply into Brooke's back, aligning all the nerves in Brooke's back, all the thoughts in Brooke's mind. Brooke had a plan. Unfortunately, her plan involved breaking free of Sam's back rub. It was a small sacrifice, she decided, as she broke contact and raised herself off the floor, crawling onto the couch- essentially crawling onto Sam. She twisted so that she was facing away from Sam, towards vaguely where the tv was (she wasn't entirely sure there was anything in the room besides Sam), and settled into a cuddle.

And now Brooke was pulling Sam's arms around her, pinning them underneath her own arms flush against her body. She started tracing Sam's hands, swirling from her wrist to each knuckle to the tips, and Sam's breath was hitting the back of her neck, and she needed to get closer to that. Fortunately for her, Sam had half-regained use of her limbs and instinctively pulled her arms tight around Brooke, licking her lips and nuzzling into the exposed skin right where blonde hair faded into pale skin. Brooke's vision blurred, but they stayed like that for half an hour, not watching the TV, not daring to move. When the screen finally went dark with the end credits, Brooke turned, shifting her whole body into Sam (so as not to fall off the couch, of course) and looked into the brown eyes. They weren't terrified this time. Maybe it was the cookies. She made a mental note to start all future confrontations with cookies.

Brooke took the deepest breath, and hoped she wouldn't stumble over her words.

"I really, really want to kiss you right now." Sam had always been in awe of Brooke's incredibly persuasive rhetoric.

Still, she couldn't relinquish herself yet. She needed answers. They needed to talk, reach some real conclusion about 'them'. "Friends can't do that."

"No." The blonde's face fell as she continued her offer, "Girl…Friends can, though…?" Brooke could have been the poster child for hopeful looks.

"Well, then it's a good thing I'm taking you on our first date tomorrow night." The sentence came out haltingly as Sam gauged Brooke's face, voice picking up speed as the blonde broke into an irrepressible grin.

"What do they say about girls who kiss before the first date..?"

"That they get a first date at all." Sam supposed five sentences was more than enough to satisfy her need for intensive conversation, at least for now. Either way, she would have to deal, because the pressure surrounding the moment had glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

"Ohhh tough love…" Brooke mumbled into Sam's chin. All the anticipation in the world was mounted on the tips of their tongues, doing its best to slow time, keep some weak repartee going, stall the groundbreaking, mind blowing inevitable. But Sam could already feel Brooke's errant breath making its way to her lips, to the inside of her mouth, touching and captivating every sensory receptor in her lips.

There was no seam between those moments and the ones after their lips met, it was all one endless mess of an intimate high.

And it wasn't too long before Sam's lips were dragging, languid and hot, and her hips were sort of grinding, deeply, and Brooke couldn't focus, she was so divided between the slow, sensual hands and mouth at her face and neck and the raw friction between her legs until it all came out in a disconnected, drawn out moan, undertones of whimpers lilting in waves over Sam, which drew all her attention to Brooke's lips again and Sam was _really_ good at what she was doing.

It was the most intoxicated Brooke had ever been.

Their states of mind were so euphorically altered, in fact, that neither bothered to react when Mike and Jane came in the front door. They were only dragged back down to reality by the echoing THUMP of Jane's purse (and possibly jaw) hitting the floor.

And that was how Sam discovered a whole new meaning of awkward. One that occurs only when your mother and her husband find you on top of his daughter with her bottom lip between your teeth.

Everything in the McQueen/McPherson household froze. The washing machine concluded its rumbling cycle precisely at that moment, the dish washer blinked its 'all done' light, even the clocks shushed their ticking.

In the resulting silence, Brooke's hands carefully and slowly made their way out of Sam's shirt, as if sneaking them out would hide the fact that they had been clawing there only minutes ago.

The two sat up, and held a silent, terrified conference with their eyes. Mike and Jane mirrored the look.

"Broken ankle at the starting gate." Despite the yelling, despite all the uncertainty, Brooke couldn't help letting her mind wander back to the flood of absolute warmth that engulfed her when Sam *asked her on a date* (a memory that she couldn't help shaking her booty in victory dance about), the few shaking breaths before their first kiss, the weight of Sam pressing down into her body.

The memories that came after that prompted Brooke to fall back on her bed, reveling in giddy glee and shivers.

Downstairs, things were significantly less nostalgic.

"Mike. Mike! Honey, you're not thinking clearly."

"Me? I'm thinking perfectly clearly! It's our daughters that aren't-"

"Mike. Go. Take a walk. Cool down a little bit. We don't know what's going on."

"I think it's pretty clear what's going on."

"How is it clear? We haven't gotten more than one word sentences out of either of them in almost a month! Brooke has been acting like she's been on drugs or something for the past week, and you-we haven't let them get a word in edgewise about any of..." She gestured frantically, hoping the right word would somehow fall out, "This."

They stood even for a moment before Mike caved and sped out the door. Jane sighed and tried to knead some tension out of her forehead before making her way up stairs.

Two loud knocks on her window sent a jolt through Brooke's mind, snapping her off her bed in an unceremonious KTHUNK. Her brow knotted as Sam's face smirked in through the giant window, which she quickly opened.

"You should have seen the look on your face…"

Brooke was still confounded. "How did you do that?"

"Magic." Brooke did not look impressed. "I practically walked over. Have you never noticed the roof tight between our rooms?"

She still wasn't impressed, though marginally amused. "Creep much?"

"Only just now." Sam dropped eye contact for a moment, "I saw your dad storming out to the car. I think... I think mom's going to want to... discuss this... that."

Brooke could only stay hopeful. "Well… if she's anything like you, I trust her to be fair."

"And at least now if they find out about your" She brought two fingers to her lips and inhaled from an invisible joint, "It'll be comparatively acceptable…"

"That's not even funny."

The dead seriousness on Brooke's face contrasting with her melodramatic tone of voice made Sam think it actually _was _kind of funny, but she conceded pushing further on the subject, considering their current situation and she settled for a change of subject. "This is happening way too fast. I could have sworn they said 'midnight'..."

Brooke cocked an eyebrow and cracked a smile, "It's almost 1am."

"Really?" The brunette glanced at the clock next to Brooke's bed, "… Time flies when you're having fun." Sam's smirk glossed over the nerve wrecking indecision of the past few months. It all came flooding back after a few moments of silence. "Can we talk? About what just happened."

"Do we really need to?" It was Brooke's turn at an amused smile, "I think all my questions were answered." Everything turned to seduction in Brooke's eyes, and Sam followed it willingly.

"So… That's it? One kiss and we're dating now?" The way Brooke's hand was sliding up Sam's collarbone and around to the back of her neck made her significantly more inclined to accept the explanation as it was.

Brooke leaned up to increase their count to two, though the second was admittedly less involved. "Pretty much. Things are what they are. And it was 'one kiss' prefaced by months of flirting…"

"So you actually picked up on that…"

"Yeah." Her cheeks tightened in happiness against Sam's neck. "You know… when people have conversations without speaking? Call me stupid or blind, but… I feel like we've been having those for a while."

"I… Yeah-"

They both heard the loud report of a knock on Sam's door echoing down the hallway. The noise and a pleading, "Sam? We need to talk. Let me in." in Jane's voice sent Sam scrambling out the window, back to her room. She got there just in time to keep her mom's frenetic thoughts from wondering if Sam and Brooke had pulled a Romeo and Juliet. The door wrenched open, both of them jumping as though they hadn't actually expected anyone to be there. Sam was the first to dare words.

"Yeah. We need to talk."

Despite the admission, they were bathed in silence. Sam was drawing in all kinds of breaths in desperation, Jane was getting to know a particular section of Sam's wall.

"So."

"Soooo…"

"A needle pulling thread?" Sam offered some sarcasm to start some conversation. She wouldn't mind if the conversation was more about Julie Andrews than that night's happenings, but she wasn't quite that optimistic.

"How… how did…"

She didn't want to answer, but she also didn't want to torture her mother like this. "Honestly, that was… the first time. And… uh… not really the ideal way for you guys to find out about it."

Jane really wanted to say, "First time? And you let her get to second base?"

So she did.

Sam, appropriately, doubled over in a long burst of nervous laughter.

"I shouldn't joke about this." Jane wiped a tear away from the corner of her eye and continued, "Mike and I. We have no idea what to do. I know he's angry and confused, and I'd be lying if I said I weren't at least one of those, and probably has some plan to ground you two."

"That's totally unfair... We have just as much right to be in love with each other as you two do-" Now that she wasn't talking directly to the object of her affection about this, Sam had speeches that would put a president to shame prepared to defend them. Jane cut her off, though.

"-But... I… considered trying to talk you out of this. Because I know what... I know what infatuation can be like." Sam drew in a breath, but was once again cut off, "But you're young, and when you're young, love knows no bounds. It's important that you learn what that feels like." Air made a slow hiss as Jane prepared her closing statement. "So don't change. I can't promise that you won't get hurt, but _I'm_ not going to stop you, and I'll talk to Mike about it."

Sam expressed her gratitude through a trembling lip and the tightest hug she had ever given.

"I'm a cool mom, right?"

"The coolest." Sam's words were muffled by the shirt she was pressing her face into, but they got the point across, "Are you going to go talk to Brooke?"

"I guess I have to. I'm nervous."

"Mom." Jane stopped at the door. "Thanks. Thank you. You… you don't know how much this means to me." Her mother only nodded, smiled, and shut the door.

Sam's body hit the bed instantly. She closed her eyes and the darkness reeled, imbued with her disbelief.

She could hear some muffled speaking through the wall, but was unconscious before it ended.

She dreamed of floating on a green and yellow sea, an existence as nothing more than bobbing driftwood, soft grass and sweet air and Brooke. Nightmares and harsh reality meant nothing for this one dream, a delicate hallucination of a lifetime of kisses and unconditional love.


End file.
